


The Seventh Horcrux

by flugantamuso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:22:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six of Tom Riddle's horcruxes have been found and destroyed, Voldemort has been destroyed, but Harry Potter is acting strangely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The war was finally over.

Voldemort had been blown into infinitesimal parts by Harry Potter in a climactic showdown at the end of his seventh year, or what would have been his seventh year, had he attended Hogwarts. Instead, he had chased around the world, finding and destroying Tom Riddle's horcruxes as Albus Dumbledore had asked him to do.

And he had been successful. It was the destruction of the six horcruxes that allowed Voldemort to be destroyed, weakening him to the point that Harry Potter could break through his shields and destroy him, body and soul. Even if Dumbledore had been right and there had been a seventh, surely it would not contain enough power to keep Riddle's soul alive.

The wizarding world heaved a collective sigh, and got on with the business of living, albeit with a bit more suspicion and paranoia. After all, not all of the death eaters had been caught.

It would be hard to recount when exactly Harry Potter started changing. Things were already so dfficult, in the aftermath of a war, that no one thought to observe differences in the savior of the wizarding world, and when they were noticed they were thought to be caused by the stresses of the war, and of losing his friends to death.

So when Harry Potter publicly met with Lucius Malfoy, wearing, of all things, the old Hogwarts sorting hat, his by right of lineage, no one considered the obvious possibilities.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is a bit melodramatic and also, stinkingly drunk.

The day that Harry Potter met with his father, Draco Malfoy got stinking drunk. It was really, he thought blearily, head on the table, the only appropriate response. To be dependent on the goodwill of sodding Harry Potter, oh, the shame.

He recognized that something was needed to resurrect the Malfoy good name, he could hardly fail to recognize it when vegetables were thrown at him in Diagon Alley. His mother had not left the manor in more than a month, and his father…

His father was, at this moment, meeting with Harry Potter, his pride apparently broken. It was this that shocked Draco the most; that his father would lower himself, could be brought to the point where he wouldlower himself. Because if it could happen to Lucius, what was to keep it from happening to Draco?

Actually, his father had been acting strangely ever since his stay in Azkaban. He jumped at shadows, fell asleep over his wine, and he had refused to speak to Draco about today's meeting, refused! Lucius had never refused Draco anything.

His mother had quite sensibly suggested that he could stay in the manor. There were plenty of little rooms he could closet himself in while Potter was there, hell, the whole south wing hadn't been used since Aunt Eclaria had visited, with her twenty-seven cats. And it wasn't as though Malfoy Manor contained no alcohol. The left cellar alone had enough wine in it to drown a whole village of muggles. Not that anyone would do such a thing, not with wine of that quality.

He could have stayed, but he was a Malfoy, and his pride, at least, was not besmirched. He would not stay under the same roof as Harry Potter. So he had declared, forgetting for a moment, that no wizarding establishment would serve him.

And so he was reduced to drinking in a muggle pub, a muggle pub. The situation, he thought sulkily, was fast becoming intolerable.

Unfortunately, it was shortly to become more intolerable.

When he stumbled home late that night, it was only to run into none other than Harry Potter in the foyer, a Harry Potter wearing the most disgusting, strangely familiar old hat, and a Harry Potter who ran his eyes up and down Draco's body and smirked. Had Draco not been so stinkingly drunk this behavior would have struck him as being slightly odd. Harry Potter was not the one who smirked: Draco smirked, and sulked and simpered and did a lot of other things that started with S, but Harry Potter did not. In his condition, however, he only noted that it was Harry Potter, and that was enough to make his eyes roll up in his head as he passed out.

When his mother woke him up five minutes later, and informed him that Harry Potter was going to be staying at the manor for the time being, he passed out again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something wrong with Harry Potter acting as a Slytherin and Draco's schoolyard rival has become much more of a danger to Draco than he realized.

Given the amount of space available, the number of rooms to hide in, he could have put off the confrontation for years, but the indignity of being cloistered in his own home, hiding from Harry effing Potter, was too much to bear. Thus it was that Draco stood at the head of the stairs, staring down at the interloper with cold, unforgiving eyes. Never let it be said that he didn't know how to choose his battlegrounds. He clenched his fists.

Tradition dictated that as his father's guest, he show a modicum of respect to Potter.

Fuck tradition.

"Draco."

Potter was still wearing that dirty old hat, the brim pulled down so that his eyes were invisible.

In school his voice had never been that well-modulated, that smooth. It infuriated Draco.

"Potter."

"I was beginning to think that you were avoiding me."

There was a smirk in Potter's voice, and Draco ground his teeth together. Nothing was more capable of irritating him than Potter acting as a Slytherin. It was unnatural, and it was mockery.

"Why would I avoid you? Why wouldn't I shower you with adulation like everyone else?" As he spoke he walked down the stairs, stopping just above Potter. From this location he would be able to see Potter's eyes. There was always an advantage to be had in looking someone in the eye.

Or at least there was with most people. Potter, as usual, was proving to be an exception to the rule. He stepped up, placing them on the same step, far too close for comfort, and Draco felt sweat break, his body tense up.

"I was rather hoping for that, yes."

His voice was darker now, his green eyes, finally visible, red tinged. With a quick, snake-like movement he seized Draco's shoulders and drove in, tongue stabbing against Draco's mouth.

Draco gave a shout of surprise and jerked backwards, only to trip on the step behind him. He lay on the stairs, shivering in horror and revulsion, looking at the creature above him that was wearing Harry Potter's skin.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco had a moral objection to talking with Gryffindors, so the fact that he was standing in front of the mudblood's house after having nervously knocked on the door was a sign of just how desperate he had become. Next door a woman looked up from her gardening to stare at him suspiciously. Draco shifted on his feet. He knew that he was superior to these muggles, but he couldn't help but remember the stories he'd been told as a child about the terrible atrocities muggles had once perpetrated on wizards and witches.

But it was either the mudblood or the weasel, and even with sexual-predator-Potter, Draco was not quite up to being surrounded by Weasleys.

The door was abruptly thrown open, and Draco found himself facing a very furious Granger. He felt like shrinking back, having felt the weight of her anger before. Instead, he stepped forward.

"Granger," he said, letting his lip curl just a little, "we need to talk."

OOO

"This is the worst eating establishment that I have ever frequented," Draco declared, his nose wrinkling. It wasn't quite true; the muggle bar that he'd drowned his woes in had been worse, but there hadn't been anyone there who knew him, not even a mudblood like Granger.

"Shut it, Malfoy." said Granger coldly, taking one of the plastic seats facing the door. "Would you rather have gone to the Burrow?"

No, actually Draco would not rather have gone to the Burrow, but he wasn't going to sit on one of those seats. Who knew what else had been there? He stayed standing.

"Malfoy." said Granger, her voice dangerously tranquil, "Sit."

Draco fumed, but sat.

OOO

As it turned out the weasel was calmer about the situation than Draco had expected him to be. This relieved him on one level and made his paranoid little brain vastly suspicious on the other. It got worse when Weasley, having heard the story, leaned back in his nasty plastic chair (Draco was holding himself stiffly with only the barest extremities touching the chair, his muscles aching from the exercise), and said, "So? What do you expect us to do?"  
This infuriated Draco. He had lowered himself to consort with Gryffindors, mudbloods and Weasleys, and this was the only reaction he was going to get? Had it all been for nothing? He wanted to jerk himself out of his dirty seat and walk away fast, but that would mean that he'd have to go back to the manor, back to Potter.

He gritted his teeth and tried to explain it to the idiot across from him again.

"Your best friend has been possessed by something or someone other than his usual spirit of stupidity, and you're not the least bit interested in getting rid of it?"

Granger snorted and Draco started in his seat. He had almost forgotten that she was there, so intent had he been on Weaseley. There was a bad sign there somewhere, but he refused to examine the thought more closely.

"What?"

"And what will you be doing?"

"Me? Why should I do anything? He's your friend."

"Well, yeah, but you're the one who's becoming the sex toy of the next dark lord."

Draco winced. He'd hoped that they wouldn't pick up on that aspect of his story. He looked at the dirty tabletop, compared it with his perfectly manicured nails.

"Draco?"

Oh God, no, that could not be who he thought it was.

"Draco, what are you doing with these…..Griffindors?"

The last word had a disgusted sound to it, and Draco put his head down on the dirty tabletop, resigned.

Of course. His luck had been so bad in the previous few weeks, he should have expected Pansy to show up at the very worst moment possible, with….he peeked through the curtain of his hair, yes, that's right, with Blaise, Greg and Vince.

Had he really thought that bottoming to Potter would be that bad? It couldn't possibly be worse than this.

And then Draco remembered the red sheen to normally green eyes and shivered. Of course it would be.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, preparing to tell his humilating story again, though expecting this group to work together was asking for a miracle.

Draco had never believed in miracles.


End file.
